


yelling for the sun as the water rises

by hotmesslewis



Series: Lewis and Clark - Reincarnation [4]
Category: Historical RPF, Lewis and Clark
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, First Dates, How Do I Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:54:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13540098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmesslewis/pseuds/hotmesslewis
Summary: An unexpected first date.





	yelling for the sun as the water rises

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for this being so damn sloppy but I've been on a bit of a bender this week and this? Is the best I can do right now. Maybe someday I'll do better. Maybe someday I'll give this the treatment it really deserves. (Good ideas; poor execution.)

Meriwether Lewis smiled stiffly at the glance of a snooty passing waiter, then turned toward the potted plant in the corner as he hissed into his cell phone.   “Sir, I’ve been waiting here nearly a half hour—”

“You must have gotten there a good quarter of an hour early, then,” Thomas Jefferson replied evenly, sounding bored were he not too polite.

“Well, yes, sir, but I didn’t want to be late. But I’m just wondering—are you going to be here at all tonight, or this just one of those cases when you might need an alibi and you want me to be it? ‘Cause if so, just tell me, because I think this place is a little too rich for my blood.” Of course, he _wanted_ to eat at _Le Renard Rouge_ —they had the finest food in town, bar none. But there was the matter of money; specifically, the fact that he currently had about twenty-two dollars to his name.

“Oh, don’t worry about the bill—I’ve already got it settled with the restaurant, all the food will go on my tab. And I will be there by the end of the evening, I just have a student conference first, I’m not sure how long it might take—” His voice was muffled and Meriwether could swear he heard a soft moan somewhere on the other end of the line.

_Student conference, my ass._

“But,” he knew he was complaining; whining probably would have been the more accurate description. “But I’d really rather not eat alone, sir. Not here.”

“Of course not, my boy.”

_My boy?_ Clearly Mr. J. was distracted.

“Your companion should be there any minute now.”

“My _companion_?” Meriwether repeated incredulously, turning away from the wall just in time to see his companion being seated at his table in a dark corner of the dimly lit restaurant. Over six feet of perfect redhead sitting at his table, looking completely bewildered and handsome in his khaki pants and fine navy blazer.

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Oh, Jesus is right,” Mr. J practically gasped. “Sal, honestly.”

Meriwether cleared his throat pointedly.

Mr. J cleared his throat, also, but his voice still cracked when he spoke. “You were saying?”

“ _Bill Clark?_ ”

“Well, yes. Who were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” Meriwether admitted, scrambling for a name. “Theo Burr?”

“I am not speaking to her father,” Mr. J replied stiffly.

“No shit. I’m not really, either, considering he threatens to castrate me whenever I speak to her. And she’s not even interested in—”

He had a feeling his voice suddenly gotten very loud.

“I thought you would be pleased,” Mr. J continued reasonably, as close as he ever came to pouting.

“Well, I would be, except for the fact that he’s got a girlfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Julia Hancock.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yes.”

“But I thought you two had . . . ?”

“We did, but we both agreed it was a mistake.”

“Well, how could I have possibly known if you don’t tell me these things? Or even your mother?”

Meriwether ignored the comment about his mother; as though he’d tell her that he kissed boys, let alone _Bill Clark_. “I don’t tell you these things because my personal life is actually none of your business. Besides, I never could have dreamed you’d set me up on a _date_ with him.”

“It’s not a date, it’s a friendly dinner.”

“Right, and I’m supposed to tell him that.”

“I will be along later. For coffee and deserts, at least.”

“And in the mean time?”

“Make do. Make conversation.”

Meriwether sighed deeply and looked back at his table, where Bill was very pointedly trying not to look his way, trying not to seem impatient. “I should go. I’m being rude, I’m sure.”

“Very well. And, Meriwether?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I am genuinely sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right, Mr. J. You couldn’t have known.”

“And, Meriwether?”

“Yeah?”

“I really was trying to be helpful.”

Meriwether smiled sadly at the phone. “I know, Mr. J. And thanks.”

Meriwether hung up his cell phone and ambled back to his table with as much dignity as possible. Two weeks ago he’d met Bill Clark in a bar, kissed him on the bar room floor, and taken the handsome redhead back to his place (a rather cozy converted barn) where they likely would have gone much further had Meriwether not stopped it with the unbelievable truth that left Bill walking a good mile and a half to the main road to get a taxi: they were the famed explorers Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, brought back to life for some unfathomable reason. The next morning he had gotten a phone call: Bill Clark with questions, about the men they used to be, about who they were now. But at some point the conversation had soured and he had yelled, and Meriwether hadn’t spoken to Bill since then, though he had longed to. He’d stared at the number and thought of calling, of sending a friendly or apologetic text, at least, and yet he hadn’t: fear. (So much for Meriwether Lewis, man of courage undaunted.)

And yet here he was, two weeks later and on a date with Bill Clark.

Rather against both of their wills.

“Hi.” Meriwether didn’t know whether to smile or not.

Bill stood quickly from the table, barely catching the napkin in his lap before it fell to the floor. “Hi.”

“So. This is unexpected,” Meriwether confessed with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah,” Bill laughed too, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “If I had known I was going to be having dinner with you, I might not have come.”

Bill regretted the words the instant he said them.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, if I’d known it was going to be just us. I don’t think Julia would like it much, you know? And I thought I was going to be having dinner with Mr. Jefferson?”

Bill’s surprise at the even temper Meriwether was keeping was nothing compared to Meriwether’s own surprise. “Oh, Mr. J will be along later—he had a bit of business he had to take care of with a student, first. Oh, but I should say—if anyone ever asks for some reason, could you say he was here with us all night? He, and I, would really appreciate it.”

Bill raised his eyebrows and Meriwether fought a sudden and strange urge to kiss them. “We should sit down,” he suggested, instead. After ordering drinks, he explained in hushed tones. “It’s a . . . a bit of a dalliance for Mr. J. But he’s got to be careful, you know.”

“With a student?” Bill asked, disbelieving.

“Don’t judge him too harshly. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I do believe he truly loves her.”

Bill pursed his lips but said nothing, turning his eyes back to the menu.

Meriwether couldn’t help himself; he stared. The man was just so . . . so perfect. The thick, rich red hair, the way he tilted his chin. The hazel of his eyes, the curve of his lips, the subtleties in the way his forehead creased as he anxiously studied the menu. Everything was _exactly_ as it should be and Meriwether didn’t know if it was the greatest or worst thing in the world. Meriwether smiled, nearly laughing to himself.

“What?” Bill looked up, and there they were, all the old things, the angling of his eyebrows, the slight curious parting of his lips.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . I don’t think I’ve seen you look this uncomfortable since—”

_—since a quiet family dinner in St. Louis in 1808, when Meriwether Lewis had the audacity to accidentally insult Mrs. William Clark’s bland potatoes at the table. She had borne the slight with grace, until the moment she excused herself and hurried to the back room, trying to hide her girlish tears._

_“I was only trying to help,” Lewis had said, bewildered._

_“By doing what?” Clark had snapped back, growing defensive for his wife’s sake. “Proving your superior skills as a housewife?”_

“Since when?” Bill prodded.

“Never mind.”

It was Meriwether who uncomfortably studied the menu, then, as the waiter brought their drinks and basket of bread, while Bill studied the man across the table from him and tried not to dwell on his virtues.

“I’m afraid I feel rather over-dressed,” Bill mentioned with a sense of self-deprecation.

“Not at all!” Meriwether looked up from the menu. Bill was dressed safely but attractively—good khaki pants and a navy blazer with gold cuff buttons, white shirt and expensive dress loafers. Except for his rather novel tie: bass fish, lined up nose to tail, in rows across the width of the tie; a questionable choice, to say the least. “You look—” _adorable_ was the first word that came to Meriwether’s mind, but he had a feeling that Bill might not appreciate his honesty “—very nice.”

“It’s just, you’re dressed so casually . . .”

Of course Bill wouldn’t recognize the name of the designer of Meriwether’s jeans; of course he wouldn’t know the quality silk Meriwether’s black shirt was made from. Meriwether indicated the wine corduroy blazer on the coat rack behind him and hoped that the man in the expensive loafers wouldn’t notice his scuffed black cowboy boots. “I have a bad habit of losing my clothes,” he confessed.

Bill smirked.

“Oh, God, that came out really wrong, didn’t it?”

“I don’t mind,” Bill admitted, trying to keep the laugh from his voice.

Both men retreated back into their menus, shy with each other, as the waiter came around for the second time for their dinner orders.

“You should try the soup,” Meriwether mentioned absently.

“Oh? Is it good here?”

“I don’t really know, but I thought it might be gentle enough for your stomach.”

Bill ordered the soup but waited until the waiter had left to confront Meriwether. “How the hell did you know about my stomach?” he asked with a voice like knives.

“I—”

“Have you been stalking me or something?”

Meriwether was plainly horrified. “No! Of course not! I just—”

“No one knows about my stomach problems outside of my family. _No one_. Not even Julia. So how the fuck did you find out? Did you hack into my medical records or something?”

“No, I-I just remembered it, that’s all.”

“You _remembered_ it.”

“Well, yeah. From before. When we were in the army together you had some trouble sometimes but you let me take care of you then.”

“Shit. This is one of those freaky past-lives things you’re always going on about, isn’t it?”

“I guess?”

“I suppose I shared everything with you back then, huh?”

_Everything but saliva_. “We _were_ best friends, you know. A lot of people consider it the greatest friendship in American history.”

“And here I was thinking, ‘Hey, this isn’t too bad so far! He actually seems kind of normal, and I kind of like him! Maybe we can even be friends!’ But then, no, of course not, the Crazy Train has to pull into your station and you’re back trying to drag me on board . . .”

The look of hurt was fleeting, but Bill still saw it.

“I didn’t mean that, Meriwether.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“It’s just, you’ve got to look at this from my perspective.”

“I know.”

“One day, I’m just Bill Clark, ordinary guy, and the next thing I know this young guy is making out with me and telling me that I’m destined be his best friend or something more because, surprise! I’m actually a reincarnated explorer who’s been dead for like two hundred years! And I’m, what? Just supposed to nod and accept that?”

“No, I know. I’m insane. Clearly.”

“Please, Meriwether. Don’t be sore with me.”

“I’m not.” He lied, smiling and looking Bill in the eye.

They were silent for a few moments. Meriwether picked up his fork and ran the tines back and forth through the flame of the candle on the table. He knew he was being childish but, childishly, he didn’t care.

“Tell you what,” Bill finally said. “Let’s try it, just for tonight. We don’t talk about the past at all. Let’s just see how it goes, okay?” Meriwether watched from under his eyebrows as Bill smiled at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I liked you.”

“Okay. We can try that.”

“Okay! This is good!”

Meriwether smiled back. He was fighting off panic. “But what will we talk about?”

For a moment, Bill seemed near panic himself. “Tell me about yourself.”

“There’s not really a lot to tell.”

“I’m sure there is. Where are you going to school? Have you got a job?”

Meriwether shifted in his chair painfully. “Um. Well, I deferred school for a couple of years, because it just didn’t feel right yet, you know? And I don’t really have a job at the moment. I mean, I do some odd jobs here and there for some spare cash, but that’s just like some farm and garden work and pet sitting, dog walking and stuff. I worked at a greenhouse for a few months but I’m not really made to hold a job very long. I’m kind of homeless and kind of broke, but I’m free to ramble and that’s what’s most important to me. So, yeah. Not really much to tell.” He laughed self-consciously.

“You don’t live with your parents or anything?”

“Well, my dad died when I was a kid, and I don’t care much for my step-family, so not really. I go home or to Mr. J’s for a lot of meals, but I live out of my car or in that barn I took you to most of the time. It’s actually my mom’s barn but she hasn’t stopped me from using it yet.” He really didn’t like talking about himself. “What about you, though?”

“Me? God, there’s nothing interesting about me.”

“Oh, come on. You made me talk. College? Job? Any of it?”

“Yeah, I went to college—graduated a couple of years ago. Majored in business—” [“Business?!” Meriwether interjected incredulously] “—yeah, I know, _business_. My degree hasn’t done me a lot of good so far, to be honest. I thought about joining the army but I kind of needed to stay around home because of my brother George—” [“Not George Rogers Clark?” Meriwether interrupted again, holding his tongue but looking starstruck] “—he’s got some issues and I think it’s good for him to have his baby brother hanging around, looking out for him. I’m living with him now, actually, have been for the past six months or so. Anyway, yeah, I used to work as a bartender but I got a good job with a landscaping company shortly after I moved in with George, and, I don’t know. It’s a hell of a lot better than business, you know?”

Their conversation had run dry and they hadn’t even received their entrees yet. They were awkward with each other, comfortable in the other’s presence but still strangers. Despite their history, it felt as though they knew next to nothing about each other.

A sudden inspiration.

“Tell me about Julia,” Meriwether prompted.

Bill Clark grinned bashfully and rambled like a man in love for the rest of the dinner about his childhood sweetheart—how he had known her since she was born and loved her nearly as long, how he’d been nearly like a brother to her when they were children, helping her learn to read and protecting her from playground bullies, how anxiously he’d waited, six years her senior, for her to grow up when he was a teenager, how they’d begun dating her first day of high school. Meriwether smiled as he listened and picked at his food around his breaking heart.

But even on the subject of the angel Julia Hancock, Bill only had so much to say, and Meriwether’s reluctance to ask questions about the woman he was very quickly learning to loathe meant silence reigned, again, before desert or Thomas Jefferson had arrived. Bill played with a string on his napkin, pulling out the hem stitch by stitch. Meriwether watched, still smiling affably as he brooded.

“Do you think that it would have been something different? Something else and more between them, I mean, something more than, like, the greatest friendship, if that society would have let it be? If it wasn’t this great unspeakable social taboo.”

Bill looked up from the hem of the napkin when Meriwether didn’t answer him. Meriwether was staring into the soft flame of the candle, shaking and too scared to make eye contact. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about the past,” he managed to say, finally.

The words were startled out of Bill. “I wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t think I was. I didn’t mean to.”

Meriwether knew what he thought. But he needed to understand something. The candlelight held the hazel eyes of the man in shadow when Meriwether needed to see his soul laid bare.   “Then why—”

“Meriwether! And you must be Bill Clark, a pleasure to meet you, finally, heard so much about you.” Thomas Jefferson, arriving two hours too late and ten minutes too early. He was softly spoken exuberance, decorous for the restaurant and in high spirits. But he was an ugly and unwelcome intruder, garish, too loud, to Meriwether.

Bill looked up at Mr. J, bewildered and guilty, but managed a simper when he realized who the intruder was.

Meriwether, hunted, wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Oh, dear,” Mr. J commented, half to himself. “I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I?”


End file.
